


Tell me again (slowly)

by ukuvio



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Amnesia, Brain Damage, Car Accidents, Detectives, Engagement, M/M, Murder Mystery, Trust Issues, whodunit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukuvio/pseuds/ukuvio
Summary: “So that leaves only one choice, really.”Brendon perks an eyebrow. “Which is?”“I have to solve my own murder before it happens.”
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph, Tyler Joseph/Brendon Urie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Focal Retrograde Amnesia

First, there is the heavy sound of wheels swerving against asphalt. 

He barely gets a moment to breathe before there's an explosion of metal against metal, causing his forehead to collide full force with the dashboard in front of him. The airbags deploy as his body grinds between the parts of the crushed car, hot, too hot. 

The vehicle flips, again and again, and he hears screams. 

***

His clothes feel too tight. 

He wakes, feeling almost skeletal, as his eyes move nervously around the room. He tries to sit up, but a deep ache at the base of his skull keeps him locked in place. He settles for stretching, and that's when he realizes how tight his clothing is. 

These aren't his clothes, and he doesn't know this room. 

There are flowers, blue and pink, painted thickly onto the opposite wall, and a TV placed right in front of his bed. It looks like a hospital, a nice one, with clean floors and state-of-the-art machinery. He tries to sit once more, but the door opens abruptly, jarring him. 

"Oh, Tyler, sweetie, you're awake. Remember me?" The woman glances deeply into his eyes. "Nurse Sanchez?"

He shakes his head, retreating further into the sheets, and her smile falters. "That's quite all right, hun. Come now. Do you need the restroom?"

She places a hand on his shoulder and he jerks back, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"Don't touch me. I don't know you." His voice sounds familiar, and he's thankful. "Who are you? How did I get here?"

She looks unsurprised. "You were in a terrible car crash roughly two weeks ago. You sustained much trauma to your head and legs, and it is unclear the full extent of your injuries." Her face, worn with age, turns soft. "Restroom, hun?"

He bites his lip. "Yes, please."

She slings an arm under his shoulders, helping him rise unsteadily to his feet. His brain bursts. 

"Breathe, in through your nose, Tyler." Her arm feels secure around his hip. "I know it hurts."

They waddle, as a joint body, to the adjacent bathroom, where she lets him relieve himself and take a breath. As he washes his hands, she instructs him to look into the wall-wide mirror. 

"Who is that?" It's dark in the room. Only one light is on. It flickers. "Do you recognize him?"

"He's me."

"What's his name?"

"Tyler," he says, "Tyler Joseph."

"How old is he?" She stops. "How old are you?"

"He's- I'm twenty-eight. I grew up and lived in Columbus until I was twenty-five. Then I moved here."

Her eyebrows raise. "Where's here?"

"A hospital." His head hurts. He breathes. "A hospital in Venice. Venice, California."

The nurse gives him a small pat on the back. "Progress."

When she helps him back into bed, she squeezes his arm. She's about to leave the room when he calls out to her. 

"Nurse! Nurse Sanchez?" She glances at him over her shoulder. "How many times have we had this conversation?"

She smiles, giving him a small chuckle, before shutting the door softly behind her.

***

The doctor's eyes are dead. 

"We believe you have some form of focal retrograde amnesia, caused by a small seizure during the crash which mostly affected your temporal lobe. You won't be able to remember much before the accident well. Though, as you get better, we'll continue to monitor for change."

Tyler listens. 

***

He's practicing walking with crutches on the day of his release when the door bursts open. There are arms around his shoulders and a nose in his neck. 

He's not sure how to react, but the familiarity in the man’s embrace gives him pause. 

"Christ, Tyler, you're alive! They said you wouldn’t make it, but I knew-"

He pushes against the man who reluctantly lets go. "Excuse me- who are you?"

The man steps back, confused. 

He has a soft face with smooth skin under his eyes and hair that's styled into a neat quiff. His facial hair is sleek, meticulously kept, and he's handsome, to say the least. 

"I'm Brendon." He cocks his head to the side. "Your fiance."

"No." He scoots backward. "No. I don't know you."

"We were going to be married in March." He steps closer and his eyes look endless. "Tyler, you seriously don't remember me?"

His breath heaves, and he's not getting enough air. His breathing comes in gasps. His head hurts like hell, and he feels so sick. He sinks to his knees. The room is blurry, and he's crying. 

Moments pass, he's spiraling, but soon there are hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. 

He buries his head in the warmth of Brendon's neck as the man hushes him, reassuring him that everything will be okay. 

"It's all right if you don't remember me now." His voice is low and lulling in Tyler's ear. 

Brendon rubs his back, instructing him to breathe. 

"We'll work through this. Together. We always do."

***

Brendon signs all of the relevant papers, and they're out of the hospital within hours. He takes Tyler to his-  _ their  _ apartment and shows him to the master bedroom. Brendon brings him dinner in bed and practically tucks him in, before crawling in beside him.

"I almost thought I lost you."

Tyler doesn't respond; he doesn't know what to say. 

"I love you."

"Brendon, I just- need a moment, okay? I can't just fall back into the swing of how we used to be."

He opens his mouth like he's about to speak before settling on: "Okay."

Brendon places a ginger kiss on his forehead, before connecting their lips. Tyler hesitates, but it's warm, and he's sleepy, so he lets it slide. 

"Goodnight, babe."

That night, he dreams of a life he doesn't remember. 


	2. Precinct

_ There’s a warm hand around his own, and he laughs. His cheeks hurt. _

_ There’s an ease within him, a quietness, and the unbridled sunlight seems to shine endlessly upon his skin. He feels happy. He is happy. _

_ The scene morphs hideously in front of his eyes. He sees the other driver’s car inch closer as if the crash were replaying in slow motion. He yanks the steering wheel, trying to put life back into the car, but it seems frozen in the center of the intersection. _

_ The sonorous laugh next to him falls into discordance, becoming a guttural scream. _

Tyler jolts awake with a start, shooting high up off the bed and almost landing on the floor. His skin is sheened in a cold sweat, and he’s shivering, remembering so much and yet so little. He coughs weakly and tastes blood on his tongue.

He reminds himself to breathe, in and out, through the nose. He cools down steadily, but his shirt sticks to his back. 

He stays sitting up. Sleep is beyond him now.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to hold on to the fragments of his nightmare, yet its transience mocks him. Fractions of it replay before his eyelids, as impermanent as the twilight that stands so thick in the room. He sinks his teeth into his arm, fighting the tears welling up in his eyes.

The universe had overlooked him, torn his life apart, leaving him as nothing but a shell of his former self. He has no shred of who he was, who he used to be, what he used to stand for. His naivety had been reduced to that of a child’s; he doesn’t know who to trust. 

The only reminder of his past life was Brendon, the man he was set to marry come Spring. He doesn’t know how to feel. He has no memory of how he fell in love with him, why he fell in love with him. But he’s familiar, so Tyler clings onto him with white knuckles.

Brendon sleeps next to him, as he had for the last week that Tyler had returned from the hospital. He has an arm draped over his face, snoring softly with quiet huffs, and he looks almost ethereal. The moonlight kisses his face so gently, and Tyler feels a churning within him. 

He shakes it off. 

He’s overcome by the untamable impulse to see himself, to glance over the body that he supposes is his. He stumbles toward the bathroom, which is just outside the French double doors, and pushing the door back fiercely. He doesn’t even bother with the light. 

He sees a corpse maintaining his even stare, purple rings around its eyes and lanky limbs that hang loosely from its figure. He strips off his shirt, so that his full chest is on display, and runs his fingers over the ribs poking through his skin, ashen. He splays his fingers upon the upper portion of his sternum, feeling his heart hammering against his palm.

His face interests him the most. 

His locks are a deep brown, the color of the charred wood and fall messily atop his head. His skin is tanned. He has prominent cheekbones and a small nose that sits like a button on his face. Most notably of all, there is a thick white scar, an abrasion, that runs from his hairline to his brow, lined with stitches.

From the crash.

He traces it with the pad of his thumb, barely touching it as if it would reveal to him everything he wanted to know. Who he was. Who he used to be. 

He’s tired of crying.

He crawls back into bed and stares at the cracks in the ceiling until daylight.

***

Tyler is fiddling with the engagement ring Brendon re-gave him when said man approaches him.

“Your phone finally got shipped today.”

He is sitting in the spacious area of their flat’s kitchen, while Brendon is moving around, preparing lunch. Tyler watches him.

“Did it?”

“Yep.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning to face him. He has an easy smile on his face. “I don’t have your old contacts, but you can copy whichever ones from my phone you’d like.”

“Where is it? Like, the package.”

“It’s somewhere in the living room. Think I left it on the table.”

Tyler nods, reaching for the other’s phone, and grabbing his crutch to hobble over to the phone. As he moves, he realizes how beautiful the apartment is.

It’s nowhere near small, but it only has one level. Everything from the design to the cabinetry is modern and new, most things painted white and stainless. All of the rooms are alarmingly clean, and the place barely looks lived in.

He grabs the box from the table and walks back to the kitchen. Brendon pays him no mind.

“Who’s this?” 

He’s just opened up his fiance’s phone and is staring at the most recent name.

“Who?” Brendon gives him a curious look. “Read the name, silly.”

“Jenna.”

“Oh!” He spins around. “She still lives up in Columbus. She’s married to some prestigious lawyer. Daniel, I think. Good guy. But we’re childhood friends. All three of us.”

He hums, continuing to read down the list. “You have my mom’s number?”

“Of course I do. She insisted.”

“Mind if I call her? I just… want to hear her voice. To see if I remember her.”

Brendon’s eyes soften as Tyler trails off. “Go ahead. Say hi to mama Joseph for me.”

He dials her number from his new phone.

_ “Hello?” _

“Ma?”

_ “Tyler?”  _ Her voice goes airy, weak, losing all volume.  _ “Tyler, baby, is it really you?” _

“Yeah, ma, it’s me.” His eyes grow wet, and there’s a fluttering beneath his ribs. It’s warm. “It’s me.”

He closes his eyes and sees his childhood, his parents, his siblings, his school. Everything is so clear. Crystal clear. He sees each hug she gave him, each time she wiped away his tears. Each time he raised a foul word against her, each hug that punctuated every argument. He loves her,  _ God,  _ and he remembers. 

“Ma.” He’s at a loss for words. His voice is thick. “I love you so much.”

_ “You’re alive. Christ. They wouldn’t tell us anything- I didn’t even know where you were!”  _ She laughs, relieved.  _ “How’ve you been? How are you?” _

He smiles. “I’m doing okay. They said I have amnesia. So there’s that.”

_ “Amnesia?” _ She hesitates.  _ “Can you remember me? And your dad? And-” _

“And Zack and Maddy and Jay. I remember. Now, at least.”

She sighs deeply.  _ “What do you mean?” _

“I knew that I had a mother and siblings and whatnot, but it didn’t really click until I heard your voice.” He smiles a little. “I don't think it’s permanent.”

_ “I’m glad.” _ She laughs again, choking up.  _ “I’m so glad.” _

Brendon rests a hand on Tyler’s shoulder, smiling. “Lunch’s ready.”

“Ma, I gotta go. I’ll call you back, I promise, then we can catch up.”

_ “I’ll be looking forward to it, hun.” _

***

That night, they’re in bed, when Brendon wraps his arms around Tyler’s waist. Their bodies are flush as Brendon nibbles gently up and down his neck. Tyler sighs, squirming. 

“Bren.” He bites his lip, his body leaning into the touch. “‘m sleepy.”

“Can we fool around a little?” He presses a hot kiss into Tyler’s jaw. “Please?”

“If you start begging like you mean it, I might indulge you.”

Brendon huffs and rolls off him, shutting off the lamp. “So you think this amnesia thing isn’t permanent? That one day we’ll be able to go back to how we used to be?”

“I hope,” Tyler says earnestly, “I love you so much. I know it.”

His eyebrows raise. “I love you too. What changed?”

“I just see how patient you are with me, and you take such good care of me. You’re incredibly supportive. I know why I fell in love with you in the first place.”

“Fuck, Ty.” He sniffs. “You’re gonna make me cry. But you know that my love isn’t fragile.”

Tyler says nothing until Brendon continues. “How about I take next week off work too? And we can just relax and be lazy as all hell.”

“That sounds heavenly.”

“So it’s settled.” He leans forward, placing his chin on Tyler’s shoulder. “Kiss?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Tyler slowly opens his mouth after their lips brush a few times, and Brendon’s tongue slowly enters, seeking his. His hand goes to Brendon’s cheek, caressing him, as they both get lost in the warmth of it all. 

***

It’s Brendon’s second week off, and they  _ were  _ watching a movie on TV when Tyler presses one too many kisses into Brendon’s neck. 

Now, Tyler is lying on his back, Brendon settled between his open legs, as they lazily kiss with the television on mute in the background. Every touch of their lips is raw, intense, their breathing heavy and fast, but their heartbeats faster. Tyler runs his fingers down Brendon’s spine, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush and there is no space between them. 

Brendon leans farther in and drags his tongue up and down Tyler’s neck, and he lets out a small sigh in response. He shifts slightly so their hips are pressed together and bucks up, causing Brendon to groan into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Tyler.” He rolls his hips down, and Tyler breathes. “Want you so bad.”

He goes to press his lips to Tyler’s collarbone when the house phone rings somewhere across the room. 

“Ignore it,” Brendon instructs, but Tyler pushes back against his chest. 

“What if it’s important?”

_ “Ignore it.”  _ He bites at Tyler’s neck, grinding down. 

“Stop, Bren. Get the phone.” He pushes back until Brendon tumbles to the floor. 

“Damn it. Fine.” 

He picks it up, and Tyler sits up, trying to take deep breaths and calm down. He’s trembling, and he doesn’t know why. 

“Of course, we’ll be right there.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That was the police.” Brendon pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to be at the precinct right away.”

***

“What?”

Tyler’s in shock. There’s too much blood in his ears. He’s struggling to inhale. 

Brendon doesn’t look much better sitting next to him, his face drained of color and his jaw slack. 

“I understand this may be troubling news for you, Mr. Joseph,” the sergeant says, “but it’s true. CPD officials found their bodies this morning. I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”

“I don’t understand.” Tyler places his head in his hands, and Brendon’s hand lies on his shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re not completely sure, but we have some reason to believe that they—your parents—weren’t dead for a long time. We also have reason to believe that this wasn’t an isolated incident.”

Brendon speaks up on his behalf. “So… this guy, he’s a serial killer?”

“We’re thinking more along those lines, yes.” The sergeant removes his hat and runs a quick hand through his hair. “How your parents were, um, attacked makes me and other detectives working the case think that it was deliberate. That it was planned. For example, the perpetrator left no fingerprints or hair anywhere on the scene, and there is significant evidence of a cleanup. This was not by chance.”

Brendon sighs heavily but says nothing. 

“The problem is,” the sergeant continues with a slight Texas drawl, “we think the perp could be after you or a loved one next.”

Tyler pulls at his hair until it burns. “Sergeant, Sergeant Price, do… do you have any idea who the killer might be?”

A heavy exhale. “No. Not a clue.”

***

They argue in the car. 

“We should go into hiding.”

“We can’t. Your job.” 

“You could be hurt.”

“Brendon, the guy could hurt you too if you’re in the way.”

“Well then… what can we do? Wait until you or someone else dies? I can’t lose you again, Tyler.”

“I don’t even know what to do. I just got my parents back and they’re… dead just like that. What am I supposed to do? I can’t even-”

“Does it hurt? That they’re dead.”

Tyler turns towards him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ty, you know that. I just- you have amnesia, and you didn’t even remember them until you spoke.”

“They’re my fucking parents, Brendon.” His eyes narrow, his tone is harsh. “Has it occurred to you that now I’ve got to call up everyone they knew and plan a  _ fucking  _ funeral?”

“No, I-” Brendon bites his lip. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Brendon.” Tyler sighs, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have got upset. It’s just… this came out of nowhere.”

“I get that.” Brendon takes his hand. “But we got this. We’ll get through it.”

He blows air out through his cheeks. “What am I gonna do?”

“We can’t depend on the police for this one. They’re busy, and they know just as much as we do.”

“So that leaves only one choice, really.”

Brendon perks an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“I have to solve my own murder before it happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> I've been writing a lot but nothing ever felt good enough to post, except this. I've been wanting to write a story like this for a while, but I'm not sure where exactly I want to take this. So, let me know if you like it/if I should continue. 
> 
> Thanks. Happy Holidays.


	3. Autumn

The dawn comes with its heavy musical silence, its hushed tones, and fluttery footfalls. Its swollen brightness relinquishes the dreams that lie pungent in the breaths of the sleeping, forcing their eyes to open and their minds to see. 

Brendon cards gentle fingers through Tyler’s sweat-slicked locks, twisting and wrapping them around his forefinger as Tyler lies across his lap, shivering. Their bodies lie close and they relish in the last moments of this intimacy, their hands clasped and pressed so tightly together. The soft morning words left Tyler’s eyes wet, so he shut them, pushing his nose into the fleshy area below the other’s navel. 

Brendon’s face is steely, his expression pulled into one of intense focus, and Tyler soberly studies his features. They are worn with the lack of sleep—he’s tired, they both are—but there are a few ridges just above the space between his eyebrows, confirming the fact that he’s deep in thought. 

“Why are you still with me?”

“Hm?” Brendon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look at him. 

“Why would you stay with me, though I’ve forgotten everything? Wouldn’t it be easier to find someone else? Am I not a burden to you?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“Do you really though? You want me to say what you want to hear.”

“Why are you being like this?”

Brendon runs a hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Forget it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t run away from me.” Tyler sits up now, making sure their eyes meet. 

“I’m trying, alright? I’m trying. I want to be there for you, but this is hard. And new. And-”

“New?”

“Um.” His eyes go wide for a second. “With the amnesia. But you’re so complicated, and you go from being okay to mad at me on the flip of a dime.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m going through a lot? Ever fucking considered that?”

“I’m being supportive-”

“Maybe to you!”

“You said I was like a week ago!”

“Yeah? Guess what? I was… I was lying,” Tyler admits, but he regrets it almost immediately. “I was lying. I don’t know what I’m feeling, especially toward you. I’ve been trying to act like the fucking crash didn’t happen, but I’m really starting to wonder if any of this is worth it. I’m not happy. I’m not happy and my parents are dead. I’m lost.”

“This is how you treat the man who opened up his home to you?” Brendon scoffs, rolling out of bed. “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I’m going to work.”

He slams the door behind him, and Tyler collapses onto the mattress, staring at the door. 

It’s hopeless. They're both damned and hopeless. 

***

Brendon apologizes as they sit in the waiting room of the hospital for Tyler’s check-up.

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want us to fight.”

“So you’re not really sorry. You just want us to stop being mad at each other.”

“I'm not mad at you.  _ You’re  _ mad at me.”

Tyler looks up from the magazine he was skimming over to maintain Brendon’s stare. “I thought this was supposed to be an apology.”

Brendon seems put-off for a moment, with his eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a hard line, but he backs down. “You’re right. I messed up, and I should’a listened instead of walking out on you yesterday. You’re going through a hard time, I get that, but I’m trying to be here for you, and you have no right to chip at that.”

Tyler closes the magazine and sighs deeply. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll try and be better.”

“See? It wasn’t that hard.”

“Shut up.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “Before I shove this magazine up your ass.”

Brendon leans in, his breath up against Tyler’s nose. “Kinky.”

“Gross.” Tyler smiles and allows Brendon to press their lips together.

“Mr. Joseph? Dr. Johnson is ready to see you.”

The nurse leads them down a winding hallway with so many twists and turns that Tyler almost forgets the way out. The doctor is reading over something on a clipboard when they enter the room. It looks exactly like the one he first stayed in.

“Hello, Mr. Joseph—can I call you Tyler?—I'm Dr. Johnson, lead neurologist, specializing in brain diseases.” She smiles, extending her hand. Tyler shakes it and nods. “And who is this?”

“The name’s Brendon Urie. Tyler’s fiance.”

“Good. Nice to meet you.”

There was a warmth in her smile and an easiness in her voice that assuages some of the tension in the room. Tyler relaxes. 

“So,” Dr. Johnson says, “how is everything with the amnesia? How is your memory?”

“Good.” Tyler’s grin spreads across his face. “Everything a couple years before the crash is gone. Nothing. My childhood is touch and go. But sometimes, something triggers a memory and it’s like it plays out behind my eyelids. Don’t know what it means.”

“That’s great news.” She beams, jotting something down on her clipboard. “This likely means that the impact sustained from the crash, which subsequently caused the seizure, may have only caused  _ temporary  _ memory loss. Since the seizure probably cut off blood flow to the temporal lobe, my theory is that when something moving happens, it causes a rush of blood to the brain, which causes you to remember something.”

“So,” Brendon chimes in, “hypothetically, if he didn’t come into contact with anything from his life before, he wouldn’t be able to remember it?”

“Well, I can’t say that for sure.” Dr. Johnson looks at him oddly but continues. “But I would say that his recovery of memory would certainly be impaired if he didn’t encounter stimuli from his ‘past’ life anymore.”

“One more thing, doctor.” Brendon presses a dramatic finger to his chin. “Tyler sometimes has these lapses in memory. At times, it’s small, like he forgets a conversation we just had, but other times, he forgets the whole day. And when he comes back, it’s like he doesn’t even notice. It worries me.”

“That’s definitely strange.” She glances over the notes on the clipboard. “That would mean that you have a mix of retrograde and anterograde amnesia, which wouldn’t really make-”

Tyler gets tired of waiting. He faces Brendon with venom on his lips. “How could you hide this from me? How could you not tell me that my memory lapses?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Like hell. How would that-”

“Gentlemen.” Dr. Johnson speaks firmly, causing them both to relent. “Please.”

Tyler exhales deeply, and her expression softens. 

“Look.” She starts slowly. “I know this must be really hard on you both, but my only advice is for you.” She turns to Brendon. “Help him encounter as many parts of your old life before. Pretty much anything that will trigger blood flow to his brain.”

“Thanks.” Brendon doesn’t smile. “Will do.”

***

Tyler swipes through pictures of him and Brendon on the other’s phone. It has photos of them ranging from just a few years ago to even when they were children. 

Tyler locks the phone. “I want to go to Columbus.”

“What for?” Brendon lies on the opposite couch, nursing a warm beer. 

“To see my siblings.”

“Have you been in touch?”

“Yeah. We were hoping we could go out to lunch.”

He rolls to face Tyler. “You all organized this behind my back?” 

“There is no ‘behind your back’ in this. If I want to see Zack and Maddy, I can. I’m a grown man.”

“But I can’t go with you. The boss says I’ve been off work too much lately.” Brendon works for an advertising agency with clientele all over the country.

“I don’t need you there.”

“Fine. You can go.”

Tyler almost mutters something about not needing permission, but he doesn’t. It seems all they do is fight nowadays, and he doesn’t need to light a dormant fuse. He’s tired, so he decides to just take the affirmative. 

***

Tyler arrives in Columbus in the early morning, when the light drizzle makes the reds and greens from the street lights reflect off the asphalt, and he catches a taxi straight to the hotel Brendon paid for in full. He checks in and heads straight up to the master suite attached to his name. He hangs the  _ do not disturb _ sign on the doorknob and sleeps for 10 hours. 

***

Tyler wakes up around noon, and showers immediately. It’s a tick he has about hotels. 

Upon emerging, he stares at his packed luggage, hoping a suitable outfit would materialize for him to wear. It would be a severe understatement to note that he’s nervous to meet his siblings, and they’re meeting for lunch in two hours at a local eatery to catch up. Just Maddy and Zack, as Jay is away at college in Illinois. Tyler took initiative and called the eighteen-year-old, but their conversation, though short, was tense. 

He tries to clear his thoughts and focus on the task at hand: making himself look presentable. After a few outfit changes, he settles on a mustard-yellow sweater and dark blue skinny jeans. He’s not sure how formal to dress, and this seems like a happy medium. 

He hails a taxi about thirty minutes to time and gets to the diner before the others. He stands outside on the patio and blows air out from his cheeks. 

Autumn in Columbus is different from autumn in California; here, it’s more tangible, more pungent. It’s calm and quiet, and blushes among the earthy browns flow from the landscape and the turf underfoot. The nakedness of trees, their thinness as they seem to stretch endlessly into the sky, seems to encapsulate the essence of fall more heavily than balmy Venice. 

The wind blows colder and stirs up more golden leaves, and as he breathes in the air, it feels like home. 

“Tyler!”

He turns at the call of his name, and two people approach him. 

“Fucking idiot,” Zack says, shaking his hand and pulling him in for a hug, “how’ve you been?”

“Wonderful.” He smiles as he embraces Maddy next. “I'm so happy to see you guys. How are you two?”

“Good,” they echo. 

Tyler picks a table near the corner of the patio, and they sit down as a waiter takes their orders. When he leaves, they begin to talk in quieter voices. 

“So, mom and dad.” Maddy is the first to speak, her voice quivering. “What are we going to do about them?”

“Let’s not talk about them right now, okay?” Tyler takes her hand in his own. “I’m going to be here for the whole week, so we can figure out funeral planning and other stuff later. Let’s exist in this moment.”

Zack’s fists clench, and he sets his jaw. “I just want to find the fucker who did this and- and-”

“I know. I know, you guys.” Tyler sighs, placing his head in his hands. “And they might be after us next. What are we gonna do? We have to protect ourselves and our families.”

“The wife and I are getting cameras and a security system installed.” Zack takes a sip of the glass of water in front of him. “We needed some peace of mind and we figured it would be the best thing to do. Money is a little tight right now so the cameras are only on the outside. I can’t fathom what I would do if… if-”

“It’s okay, Zack.” Maddy places a hand on his shoulder. “We should all get cameras.”

Tyler smiles fondly; it’s oddly comforting to think they haven’t changed since childhood, even after all these years. His heart picks up pace, and he remembers. 

He remembers times from when they were little, how happy they used to be, a model family. It all changed when they arrived in middle and high school. His parents fought almost every day, filled with untrained hatred and exasperation, and they weren’t always able to hold back in front of the family. Tyler spent most days sequestered in his room, headphones buzzing on full volume, trying to drown out the vile, destructive thoughts in his head. Zack got into fights daily, set on destroying anyone who spoke an ill word about Tyler or anyone else in their family. He and Tyler used to share a room, and Tyler knew he cried himself to sleep almost every night as he iced the bruises that speckled his skin. Maddy was always the peacemaker, the rational thinker, and shielded a very confused young Jay from all of the venom and anger raging throughout the household. 

Things were better now. They were happier; they’d surmounted the insurmountable. Even though they spoke less often, and their lives were less twined, the smiles on their faces came easier and they spent most nights in the arms of someone they loved. 

“I agree, Mads,” he says. 

Zack nods. “Let’s change the subject, huh? How’s Josh?”

There’s a pulse of sharp pain on his temple. “Who?”

“Josh,” he repeats. “You know, how’s he taking all of this? I know he loved our mom.”

“I don’t know who you guys are- what?”

Maddy and Zack share an uneasy glance. “You don’t remember Josh? We all grew up together? You crushed on him for all of high school?”

“I…I-” The pain in his head suddenly intensifies, and his vision whites out. His nose begins to run. “Shit.”

“You said you had amnesia but I didn’t think it was  _ that  _ bad.” Zack bites his cheek. “Just forget I said anything.”

The waiter comes to drop off their meals, but Tyler doesn’t feel hungry anymore. 

The food tasted of corpses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry 2020 y'all, feedback much appreciated.


	4. Sanguine Drapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hopefully) the last expository chapter

“Sergeant Price,” Tyler greets as he answers the phone. “What can I do for you?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, his half-dead cell phone pressed up against his ear. 

_“Hey, Tyler, I was just calling back to let you know about updates with you and the crime scene.”_

Before leaving Venice, Tyler had contacted the sergeant to inquire about his parents’ house and how the investigation was being handled there. Price had assured him that the Columbus Police Department was diligently working the case alongside the LAPD of Venice. Tyler had further requested to see and investigate the crime scene himself, to which Sergeant Price had told him to wait. 

“Yes, and has anything changed?”

_“You better not go and embarrass me, son. You have no idea how much I had to grovel to the CPD to let you go to the house.”_

“So it’s a yes?” He can barely contain his excitement. “Thank you. Thank you so much, sergeant. You won't regret this.”

 _“Yeah, yeah.”_ He sounds bored through the phone, but Tyler can hear the smile in his voice. _“I don’t know how you plan on solving this case yourself, but if this is part of it, then good luck. The chief of the CPD will be expecting you at noon sharp tomorrow. Don’t be late, y’hear me?”_

“Absolutely. Thank you again.”

_“Okay. Have a nice night, Tyler.”_

The line goes dead and Tyler takes a breath, opening up Zack’s contact. 

_hey dude_

_what’s up_

_the police dept gave me the okay to check out mom and dad’s house tmrw_

_wanna come?_

_12 oclock on the dot_

_why would you even wanna go there_

_with the knowledge that that’s where they were murdered_

_don’t be like that_

_I just don’t think it’s a good idea_

_you should leave this to the police. the professionals_

_they know what they’re doing_

_i’m not going to stand by and let some people who don’t even know our parents treat this like any other case_

_this dude could be a serial killer_

_and he picked the wrong person to mess with_

_..._

_I respect your agency man_

_shut up_

_so you’ll be there?_

_just to make sure you don’t do anything stupid_

_fine by me_

_I’ll pick you up at 1130_

_see ya then_

He shuts off the phone and watches old movies on the hotel’s 35” TV until morning. 

***

Tyler and Zack arrive at the house five minutes before noon, the sun high in the sky and beating down distantly upon the ground. They get out of the car and approach the home that’s been sectioned off with yellow caution tape, surrounded by a multitude of police and CSI cars. 

Tyler cuffs the sleeves of his white dress shirt and straightens his plain black tie as he walks, taking controlled breaths through his mouth. Zack walks silently beside him, dressed similarly, but places a tentative hand between Tyler’s shoulder blades. As they cross the tape, a man attired in a suit advances toward them. 

“Greetings, gentlemen. It pains me that we should meet under such grim circumstances.” He frowns momentarily but proceeds to shake their hands. “My name’s Elijah Smith, chief of the CPD, but you two can call me Eli—you’re not one of my officers.” 

His booming laughter follows his own statement, and Tyler gives a small grin. Eli has dark brown skin and a close-shaven head that he occasionally covered with a gilded hat. He is muscular and stocky beneath his clothing, and although portions of his hair are tinted gray, his smile has a youthful energy behind it and a vigilance for justice. 

His suit jacket has four gold bands along the forearm of both sleeves, and on the left breast lies his glinting badge. The right breast has multicolored awards pinned to the fabric, and it is no surprise to Tyler that the man appears to be a decorated official. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Eli,” Tyler says, and Zack nods. 

“So in case Ben didn’t tell y’all-”

“Excuse me- Ben?” Tyler asks.

“Yes. Sergeant Ben Price of the LAPD Venice division?”

“Ah,” he resolves, but Zack still sends him a confused look. 

“Regardless, here’s how this is going to work: you both will have two hours to look through the house. All my officers and CSI agents have been briefed so they’re all ready to answer any questions you may have. You can look through anything, but you will have to wear gloves and shoe shields.” He hands them two packs of latex gloves and another blue box.

They slip on the gloves and the covers for their shoes and follow Eli into the house. 

The home has been bleached clean and cleared out. There’s no trace of the furniture that they spent their childhood on, the impressionistic paintings that used to adorn the walls. The walls had obviously been repainted, likely to hide any evidence of bloodstains. The house looked new, untouched, and bile rose in Tyler’s throat. 

“Can you… Eli, can you show us the room where it happened?”

Eli shrugs. “Sure. If you really want.”

The three of them head up the stairs, and Zack elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Why do you insist on torturing yourself?”

“‘Cause I need to know the truth.”

Zack scoffs, but stuffs his hands into his pockets and says nothing else. 

Eli opens the door to the master bedroom with no warning, and Tyler’s breath catches in his throat. 

The room looks spotless, lifeless, and unlived in. The drapes are a deep sanguine—ironic—and are bunched up in a pile on the floor. The unhindered light from the window pours endlessly onto the comforter, which matches in hue and texture the curtains. The furniture is gone, except for the bed, which is wrapped up in some sort of preservative plastic. 

Tyler goes numb; he can’t speak, he can't breathe. 

“Tyler?”

His fingers twitch by his sides before his hands fly up to cover his ears. His heart is thudding in his throat as his mind reels, imagining every last detail of his parents’ brutal murder. He thinks of how they must have begged to live, fought tirelessly, tenaciously, against their killer before surrendering to the exhaustion in their bones. How they must have screamed for help. How the killer must have looked over their corpses without an ounce of pity. 

He looks up toward the ceiling to keep his tears from falling. His fists clench as they lower back to his sides.

“Eli,” he says, voice slow. “Can we start?”

The man sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Go ahead. But take it easy, son.”

“Thanks.”

When Eli leaves the room, Tyler falls to his knees. Zack is by his side in an instant.

“I'm gonna find this guy if it’s the last thing I do,” Tyler says, and he can’t hold back the tears that travel down his face. “I’m gonna make him pay.”

“We’re in the same boat, bud,” Zack consoles. “But we have to take this slowly, all right? We can’t go around making rash decisions, like visiting this house on the flip of a dime. Let me know if you plan to do something like this, okay? I need to make sure your head’s in the right place.”

 _Fuck you,_ Tyler thinks, but stands up from the ground. “Okay.”

***

They look around with no avail for six hours before Tyler’s finally able to muster enough courage to go back into his parents’ room. 

The sun is beginning to set, and so the room is bathed in elegant shades of yellow and orange. It feels a little more homely than it did a few hours ago, with its deep poignance gone with the face of the sun. Zack tails him no more than two paces and, wordlessly, they begin sifting through the room. 

Desks and drawers come up fruitless, and the closet reveals no secrets. He’s almost ready to give up, to consign this all as a waste, when the glint of something metallic catches his eye. He kneels down and sees it’s from a safe buried underneath the bed.

“Zack, go find me two wrenches, around twenty-two inches. The toolbox should still be in the hall closet.” They’re the first words he’s spoken in a while.

“You got it.”

Tyler lugs the box out from under the bed frame and moves it into the open floor. The safe is painted such a glinting black that Tyler can see his own distorted reflection on its surface. It has two handles that overlap held together by a large golden padlock. 

“Here.” Zack returns and hands the wrenches. “You sure this is a good idea? Isn’t this, like, evidence tampering?”

Tyler ignores him.

He slides long ends of both jaws in between the shackle of the lock so that the wrench handles jut out in a hard ‘v’ shape. He fixes them between both his palms and squeezes with all of his might, till he begins to grow red in the face and his breathing stutters. He takes a deep breath and squeezes the handles together again, and this time, the shackle breaks open with a loud crack, almost like that of a shattered coconut. The padlock hangs limply from the side, ruined, and Tyler almost pities it.

He doesn’t remember where he learned to do that.

He directs his focus back onto the now unbarred safe. He holds his breath as he opens it. 

In the safe lies papers. Two of them.

It was underwhelming, to say the least, but Tyler didn’t really know what he was expecting. Maybe the missing piece that would make sense of all of this. 

He takes one and hands the other to Zack, who stands over him, just as curious as to the safe’s contents. He narrows his eyes to read the paper in the dark. 

_LIFE INSURANCE POLICY_

_Mr. and Mrs. Joseph,_

_Your life insurance policy will, on the 3rd of January 2018, take effect. To clarify, your assets have been placed in correspondence with your will. If both of you pass before the money can be allocated to the other, the $500,000 (five-hundred thousand dollars) will be given to Tyler and Zack Joseph, as requested. The rest of the property on this policy will be given to the two above to decide to delegate according to your will._

_Thank you._

Tyler returns the paper to its place in the safe, resisting the urge to crumple it between his palms. 

“It’s their will,” Zack says, oblivious, still looking at the paper in his hands. “I’m sure we’ll have someone to do the official reading and redistribution of property. What about you?”

“A life insurance policy from last year. To us. For a lot of money.” Tyler starts, breathing slowly. “Did you know about this?”

Zack scratches at the back of his head. 

“Zack,” Tyler says again, firmly. “Did you know they had a life insurance policy?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tyler steps closer, crowding his brother’s space. “What else are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing, nothing else, I swear.” He holds his hands up defensively. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Protect me! What is with everyone thinking that they need to protect me? Newsflash, I’m not a fucking baby. You don’t need to protect me from shit, not like you could anyway.”

Tyler knew he was lashing out. He couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

“Tyler, calm down. Please.”

“Calm down? Calm down, my ass. I’m trying to find the person who killed our parents and you kept information from me and you tell me to calm down about it?” He finally gets up the courage to say it. “You know what? Fuck you, Zack. Burn in hell.”

“Tyler-”

He grabs the safe and the paper straight out of Zack’s hands and storms out of the house, punctuating his temper with the loud crack of the slammed door. 

He calls a taxi, and on the ride to the hotel, he doesn’t even think of apologizing.

***

On the flight home, Tyler phones the LAPD. He asks to be connected to Sergeant Price, and the southerner’s tired voice comes onto the line within seconds.

_“Hey, Tyler, how was it? Seeing your parents’ house?”_

“Went fine. I found some papers I’ll bring down to the station for evidence and whatnot.”

 _“Oh? Good.”_ There’s a deep, sudden sigh on the other side of the line. _“Tyler, ah, Eli told me about your little ‘meltdown’ at the house, and honestly, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, son.”_

“I appreciate your words, sir.”

_“I’ll tell’ya what. When you come by tomorrow, I’ll hand you a copy of the case file. I think it’ll help you with your investigation if you have the same information we do. I could lose my job over this, all right? Don’t tell a soul.”_

“Absolutely. Thank you so much, sergeant.”

_“Please. Call me Ben.”_

They’re silent for a few moments while Tyler works up the courage to speak next.

“Ben, I think… I have a suspect for you to look into.”

 _“Really?”_ His voice comes out near-silent. _“Who?”_

“Zack,” Tyler says, pressing his fists into his eyelids. “Zack Joseph.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for going MIA for a while, as I've been busy with school and whatnot. this chapter is also short (sorry) but I'll be back with a longer one soon, I promise. 
> 
> thanks.


	5. The Cafe Man

Tyler walks into the police station early the next day before Brendon wakes up. They got into another spat over something insignificant, but Tyler would be damned if he let someone—anyone—tell him what the hell to do. 

He’s holding his parents’ will and life insurance policy in a folder in one hand, and shreds of hope in his other clenched fist. He doesn’t know if coming here at ass o'clock in the morning will prove fruitless, and there’s a certain apprehension settling in his bones with each day that passes. A fear that he’ll never be able to give his parents justice. 

Once he's inside, he approaches the front desk. Sergeant Price rounds the corner at around the same time and beckons him with hollows underneath his eyes and a sluggishness in his step. Tyler follows in the quietness of the dawn, suppressing the urge to ask him if he's okay.

They settle into an empty break room, and Ben stalks up to the coffee machine to begin making a cup. 

“So,” Ben starts, back still to Tyler. “What d'you got for me?”

Tyler takes a seat in one of the scuffed-up black leather chairs, the screech it makes against the floor a sharp sound in the room. Tyler closes his eyes, listening for his heartbeat, before beginning to speak quietly.

“I think my brother, I think he-“ Tyler takes a moment. “I think he might’ve done this.”

“You must have a mighty-fine reason for waking me up before dawn, and it better not be on a whim, Tyler.”

He opens the folder and takes out the life insurance policy. He hands it to Ben. “When I asked, he said he knew about it before they died.”

The sergeant’s dark eyes narrow as they dart across the page, and he squints even further as he says: “Five-hundred thousand dollars?”

“Quite a motive, isn’t it, Ben?”

“Tyler, listen,” the man starts slowly, gently, as if he were consoling a small child. Tyler’s leg begins to bounce. “You must know that this isn’t enough to convict him?”

Tyler stands quickly. “Maybe not enough to convict, but it’s surely a lead, right? Why would he lie to me? Why would he lie to me if he had nothing to hide?”

“You’ve been out of the hospital only a month. Why would he think it was important to burden you with that? If anything, maybe he pitied you.”

“No.” Tyler begins to pull at his hair. “No. No. No, no, no. You’re wrong. You’re fucking wrong.”

“Calm the hell down, boy, where is your head?” The sergeant barks, and Tyler melts back into his seat. His head hangs low.

“I’m sorry, I don't know what got into me. But, please, Ben, my gut’s telling me something’s not right.”

The man sighs deeply. “If it really makes you feel better, I’ll call the CPD to bring him in for questioning.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice fragile. “Thank you.”

They fall into quiet, and Tyler’s gaze locks with the cream tile of the floor. He can feel a solid lump forming in his throat, and he clasps his hands in front of his chest. A part of him wants to pray, as if some supernatural being could clear his path, could make the guiltless vanish from his mind. He doesn’t regard himself as religious—at least, not anymore—yet the inherent fear of letting these murders go unsolved, or being the killer’s next target is almost enough to drive him toward faith. He imagines his surrendering as a weakness, but a month of no leads has left him drained, bereft.

“If I may ask,” the sergeant says, drawing Tyler from the recesses of his mind, “why did your parents put only you and your brother as recipients of the policy?”

“We were always the more responsible ones. Maybe not Zack, so much, but my sister used to run around with guys a lot, claiming each of her boyfriends was ‘the one.’ Maybe they thought Zack would keep me in check, I don’t know. Jay was too young, I guess.”

Ben hums, as if Tyler’s answer was somehow enough, and places his mug in the sink. “Why are you trying to do this all by yourself, son? You can ask for help, you know that.”

“I just feel as if anyone—everyone could’ve done it.”

“So this amnesia is making you trust less?”

Tyler says nothing and brings his lip in between his teeth. The sergeant places Tyler’s folder back onto the table, as well as a manila one with the numbers  _ 1856 _ across its front.

“That’s the case file. Remember, tell nobody,” Ben says. The next time he speaks, it’s a little softer. “And, hey, Tyler, thanks for the tip. We’ll see what we can do to bring some consolation.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Tyler shakes the man’s outstretched hand and stands up.

He can’t help the tears—the red-hot proof of his frustration—that track down his face as he leaves.

***

Tyler decides that a cafe two blocks from the police station may be his best bet to collect himself before heading home. No part of him wants or feels ready to confront Brendon, so he does what he does best and avoids intervention like the plague.

He’s in a rather long line, one that stretches from the cashier’s counter to the door, and his head pounds with each of his movements. He tries to survey the place as there's a feeling in his gut that tells him he’s been here before, even though he can’t remember it. 

Everything from the large pane windows to the red seat cushions on tawny booth chairs to the soft scent of freshly brewed coffee sears the insides of his brain. He grips his temples and feels sweat bead on his forehead as he walks up to give his order.

He orders plain black because he can’t remember what he used to like.

He is almost out of the door when a tentative hand appears on his shoulder. 

"Tyler?"

His head twinges, pulses, throbs, at the din of that voice. 

"Tyler?" the voice continues. "Is that really you?"

Tyler grasps his temples as he turns around. "What's it to you?"

The stranger's most remarkable quality is the tiredness that resided in purplish hues under his eyes. His hair is a deep brown that curls in wisps over his face and unshaven, prickly-looking stubble adorned his chin and cheeks. His right arm rests in a sling. 

The pain quivering in Tyler's skull magnifies. 

"God, Tyler, I can't believe it's really you. I've been looking everywhere for--"

"Who the hell are you?" 

The man seems a little taken aback. "Who am I? It's me, Josh. Your fiance," he says. "You seriously don't know who I am?"

"I don't know you," Tyler says, but his voice is weak. "I don't know who you are."

"Tyler," Josh reaches out, to place a hand on his face, but Tyler swats it away, gasping for breath. 

"I don't know who you are," he repeats, and the coffee cup slips out of his hand and spills onto the floor. He doesn't even see it. 

An employee comes between them, facing the stranger. "Back the fuck up, dude," she says, and he does. 

"I didn't come here to cause a scene." He holds his hands up in surrender. "But he's my fiance. I want to talk to him." 

The employee glances between them, eyes landing on Tyler. "Is that true?"

Tyler shakes his head violently, and Josh looks at him with wide eyes. "You can't be serious. How the hell don't you know me?"

"Look, man," the employee says, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, all right? I don't know what's going on here, but... but leave and come back in five minutes."

Josh runs both hands through his hair and gives Tyler a brief glimpse. "Fine. Fine."

He pushes past the worker but pauses when he brushes by Tyler. Josh hands him a card and whispers something so softly to him, it seems like it's just for Tyler's ears. 

"Call me. Please."

He walks out of the cafe, and Tyler feels he can breathe. The room feels colder. 

"Are you okay?" the employee asks. 

"Yeah," Tyler breathes. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Take care," she says, and Tyler nods, walking out into the sublime Autumn air. 

His head still aches, but he pockets the card anyway. 

***

Tyler arrives back at Brendon's flat just after six in the evening. He's immediately enveloped in a warm hug. 

"I'm sorry," comes the other man's hushed voice. "I didn't mean to yell this morning. I was worried sick all day."

"It's okay," Tyler says, even though it's not. He hates this constant back-and-forth. 

Brendon gives him a final squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before pulling away. 

"I picked up some takeout on the way home from work."

"Nice. Egg rolls?"

"Yeah, of course. How could I forget? It's not like you would eat Wonton Soup without egg rolls."

Tyler smiles and sits down on the couch as Brendon brings him the box. "How was work?"

"My boss is acting like a little bitch," he says, and Tyler laughs. "How about you? Any new leads in the case?"

"Yeah. The police think Zack might've had a motive, so they're looking into that."

"Oh?" Brendon gapes at him. "Do... do you think he did it?"

Tyler pauses before directing his gaze at his food. "I don't know honestly. I feel like I don't even know my own family, can you believe that?" 

Brendon places a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry, Tyler. I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through."

_ Maybe because you never ask,  _ Tyler thinks, but keeps it to himself. 

Brendon stands and retreats into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of scotch in one hand and two filled glasses in the other. 

"Maybe this will help you feel better," he says, as he gives him a glass. 

"You're encouraging me to drink?" Tyler questions, and swirls the brownish liquor around. "Doesn't seem like a very healthy coping mechanism, does it?"

Brendon grunts, "This is a five-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch; like hell I'm gonna let it go to waste."

Tyler laughs a little. "I'll drink to that."

Their glasses clink upon contact, and Tyler downs his drink easily. There's a certain familiarity in the burning in his throat, but he tries not to think about it too deeply. 

"You can get more if you want," Brendon adds, already pouring himself another glass. 

Tyler nods and lets him fill up the glass again. He drinks that one too and dismisses himself from the room with a quick kiss on Brendon's cheek. 

"Gonna take a shower," he says, and Brendon wishes him good luck. Tyler snorts. 

He strips off his shirt upon reaching the bedroom door and reaches for his waistband before something in his pocket catches his eye: the card that the stranger gave him at the cafe. 

_ Joshua Dun _

_ Mechanic _

_ Specializes in cars of all kinds, including luxury and older models.  _

_ 973-0652 _

The card itself is plain white, with no ornaments to decorate its surface, and so the black text stands out hauntingly on the paper. Tyler considers trashing it, but that knowing voice sounds in his ear, so he tucks it between his pillow and his pillowcase. That same voice also advises him not to tell Brendon, at least until he knows for sure what the cafe man's intentions were. 

_ Call me. Please.  _

His last words echo in Tyler's mind, and his head begins to pound again. 

He's unusually tired, his brain and body exhausted, and so he ends up skipping the shower and settling straight under the covers. 

He falls asleep at once, his ears deaf to the commotion around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading


	6. Four Days/Eight Days

“Tell me again how we met?”

Brendon looks up from where he’s stuffing clothes into a gutted suitcase, and his eyebrow raises a tad, his face only just changing from its neutral guise. 

“Why? You forget?”

“Not quite,” Tyler answers, as he arranges clothes inside his own carry-on. Unlike Brendon’s, his things are folded. “I just want to internalize it, y’know?”

“Sure,” he says, sitting down and running his hands through his hair. He’s naked from the waist up, only with a pair of gray sweatpants on and nothing underneath. Tyler has a bit of trouble maintaining eye contact. 

“Can you start from like, I don’t know, high school?”

“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head, taking a deep breath. “We’d been friends from when we were kids. Like, our friend group all lived on the same two blocks. Anyway, I fell for you hard in sophomore year. Like really hard.” His voice raises, becoming almost plaintive.

“Oh?” Tyler tries not to smirk. “Was I that much of a catch?”

“Cool it, casanova,” he tuts, a finger waggling in the air before he laughs. A sigh tumbles from his lips. “You were going through some tough shit”—he gestures at his own wrists, using a flexed index finger to draw quick horizontal lines—“and so I never thought it was right to ask you out or anything. I wanted you like hell. I spent every moment,  _ every moment, _ thinking about you.” 

Brendon was glancing up at the ceiling, eyes glazed over, and Tyler didn’t know if he would be interrupting some arresting daydream by speaking. 

“That’s sweet,” he settles on. His voice is quiet, tentative. “What happened next?”

“I- well.” He grins widely. “Near the end of senior year, you dragged me into a janitor’s closet and kissed the fuck out of me. I was shocked, to say the least, but it’d been everything I’d been dreaming of for the last two years, so I wasn’t about to let you go.”

Brendon's gaze slides to his, and within moments, there are hands wrapped gently around the back of his neck. His breath brushes hotly against Tyler’s top lip as he says, “I’m never gonna let you go.”

Brendon’s mouth is heated and wet when it envelops Tyler’s bottom lip, and he can’t help the sigh that flutters from his throat at the touch. Two of Tyler’s fingers slip below the waistband of Brendon’s sweats, tugging slightly, just teasing. Brendon smiles into his mouth, laying a gentle hand on his chest to push him back onto the bed. 

A phone starts ringing across the room, and Brendon groans, dismounting him. Tyler gives him a playful smack on the behind as the other man sports an exaggerated pout, before picking up the device. He shuts off the alarm, indicating that they had an hour to get to the airport to check in on time. 

When Brendon heads into the bathroom to pack their toiletries, Tyler uncovers Josh’s business card, still tucked into his pillowcase, and sticks it into his suit pocket.

***

Zack is more than happy to see the two of them the day after they touch down in Columbus. The flight seemed longer with Brendon sitting next to him, but Tyler attributed it to the fact they were going through a good patch. No fights in four days. 

Tyler embraces his brother for a long while, until he feels he’s pressed his apology a thousand times through his skin before he speaks. 

“I'm sorry for everything I said, man. I hope you know I didn’t mean it. I was… just caught up in grief, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Zack shrugs, beckoning both of them in with his hand. “Come on in, we just made lunch.”

The second they step through the door, a string of guttural barks shatter the silence, and before long, the click-clatter of nails against hardwood. Two rottweilers - at least waist height, drool sliming their black gums - round the corner and stopping just short of the two of them. Their barks don’t decline in aggressiveness, and Brendon flinches back, ducking behind Tyler. 

“Hey, man, what the fuck?” he yells, just as Tatum - Zack’s very pregnant wife - comes into the room, the dogs’ leashes in one hand. 

“Sorry, sorry.” She quickly hooks their leashes onto their collars and begins to drag them away. “They’re only like this with new people.”

“No worries,” Tyler says, elbowing Brendon in the ribs until he clears his throat and stops hiding. He murmurs a small ‘sorry’ as they enter the house, and Tyler rolls his eyes. 

They settle down at the dining table as Zack hauls the still-barking dogs to the backyard so his wife can sit down. 

“How far along are you guys?” Tyler asks, just to make conversation. 

“Thirty-five weeks,” she supplies, holding her belly. “About to burst any day now.”

“Congratulations,” Brendon chimes in, looking sheepish. “And sorry for yelling earlier. I just don’t… I’m not a fan of dogs.”

“Thank you, Zack and I have wanted this for a while.” She smiles, and Tyler somehow knows she’s familiar. 

He can vaguely remember Zack’s teary voice coming through the phone in the middle of the night, his vexed frustration at miscarriage after miscarriage. Tyler can remember becoming tearful himself listening to his brother’s anguish, and a hand resting between his shoulder blades as he tried to console him. He just can’t remember if the hand was Brendon’s or someone else’s. 

Zack enters the room again, this time, his expression hard and glued to Tyler. “Hey, you two, can I have a word alone with my brother?”

“Sure,” Tatum says, but Brendon isn’t so quick to agree. 

“Whatever you’re gonna say to him, you can say to me too.”

Zack gives him a bored look. “Dude, can you just hold your balls for like two minutes?”

Brendon’s eyes turn dark, and he stands up from his seat. “I’ll fuck you up, man. I swear to God, I’ll---”

“Brendon.” Tyler’s voice comes quietly. “Shut up.”

He whips around to face him, his face colored with bewilderment. “What the fuck? Are you seriously taking his side?”

“There are no sides in this, Brendon.” His voice is even, but he narrows his eyes. “I want to hear what Zack wants to say.”

Brendon fumes and Tyler can imagine steam coming out of his ears. “But---”

“No buts, Bren.” Tyler sighs, trying not to let his embarrassment flower on his cheeks. “Two minutes.”

His fists clench and unclench by his sides, before he exhales slowly, angling his head toward the ceiling. “Fine. Not a second more.”

Tyler holds up his hands in surrender. 

Brendon and Tatum retreat into the backyard, and Tyler lets out a breath, burying his head in his hands. 

“That guy, eh? The hell happened to him?” Zack jabs his finger toward the back door, approaching the table where Tyler was seated. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He was chill when we were kids. Now he’s got a stick up his ass.” Zack shrugs. “He also had quite the thing for you, I reckon.”

“Yeah. He told me.” Tyler finally straightens up, plastering on a forced smile. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Zack sits down at the chair directly in front of him, running a hand through his hair. “The CPD came by this morning.”

“Oh.” Tyler blanches, his heart jumping into his throat. He starts to apologize, but Zack holds up a hand, silencing him. 

“I get that I should’ve told you about the life insurance policy, I’m sorry about that honestly.” Zack throws his hands up in exasperation. “But the police, Ty, seriously? You really think I could’ve done this?”

“I'm sorry.” Tyler means it, and he hopes to convey that. “I’m just so… fucking tired.”

“Tired?”

“It’s been a month and a half since our parents died, Zack, and-” Tyler breathes to try to suppress the tears sprouting in his eyes. “And we have no leads, Zack! No leads! I’m trying my fucking hardest to stay in this, to stay positive, but our parents are dead and we have no idea who did it, or if we might be next.”

“It’s too real, Tyler, look, I get that. Trying to protect my wife and a baby on the way with a murderer looming around the corner - I’m fucking exhausted.” Zack places a hand on his shoulder. “But you’ve got to trust me, and Maddy too, and all the people around you - even dickhead Brendon. We all want the best for you, and I know your amnesia makes it hard, but try and trust us. Please.”

Tyler presses his fingers against his eyelids. “I’m so tired.”

“You’re frustrated. And it’s okay to be frustrated, all right? Let yourself feel.” Zack’s voice turns watery before reverting to its firm tone. “But a good night’s rest couldn’t hurt, eh?”

Tyler chuckles slightly, embracing his brother for a quick second as Brendon comes crashing through the door. 

“Tyler, I’ve got to get back to the hotel. Work thing.” He grabs his coat, turning to face the two of them. “You coming?”

“You two aren’t staying for lunch?” Tatum comes in behind them, with much calmer dogs this time. 

“No, sorry,” Brendon answers on his behalf. He gestures with his head for Tyler to follow, to which he rolls his eyes. 

He takes his time saying goodbye to Zack and Tatum, wishing them another  _ congratulations  _ and  _ good luck  _ with their child, promising he’ll be there whenever they need him. 

Brendon bounces on his heels until Tyler’s done, waving goodbye eventually when Tyler’s ready. They don’t talk until they’re driving back to the hotel. 

“Four days with no fights and you decide to take a dig at my brother?”

Brendon rolls his eyes, sighing. “He was-” He pauses, glancing from the road at Tyler. “Four days?”

“Yeah. It’s been four days since our last fight.”

“No.” Brendon perks an eyebrow. “It’s been eight days since our last fight.”

“No?” Tyler turns toward him fully, a hand reflexively sliding into his hair. “Four days ago I went to the police station, remember? And, at like one in the morning, we had a big fight.”

“That was eight days ago.” Brendon’s lips press into a line, and he places a cautious hand over Tyler’s. “I think you had another memory lapse, baby.”

Tyler feels so defeated, so  _ tired, _ as he places his head in his hands. “God. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, babe-”

“It’s not fucking okay!” Tyler yells, tears spilling from his eyes, his fingers gripping into the fleshy skin of his wrist. “None… none of this is fucking okay.”

He feels the car pull off to the side of the road, hears the seatbelt next to him unbuckle. A hand rests at the back of his neck, another over his heart. 

“Tyler, you’re having a panic attack.”

“No,” he says, pinching his wrists until he draws blood. The smell of iron is thick and clouds his nostrils, and he tips his head up to get air. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Brendon’s voice grows sterner, his hand fisting Tyler’s shirt. “You are.”

Tyler is about to object once more, but the sound of his own rushed breathing, his blood-coated fingers now scratching desperately at a hole in his jeans, affirms the truth in Brendon’s words. 

“You need to breathe out,” Brendon says, but his voice lacks warmth. “Focus on your exhales.”

He tries to puff out a breath, but it becomes strangled in his throat. The hand twitching in his lap travels up to grip his neck. “Can’t.”

“If you can talk, then you can breathe.” Tyler sees Brendon glance at his watch. “Try to stop crying first.”

Tyler palms at his eyes, rubbing away the tears there, before murmuring, “Drive.”

“Are you sure?”

“You have… you…” Two slow breaths. “Work thing.”

Brendon places the car into drive without so much as sparing Tyler a second glance as he tries to stop the  tears spilling from his eyes. He halfway wishes that his fiance would embrace him, wrapping him up in his strong arms, and show him that there was a way out of all of this chaos. Not just the panic attack, but the murder case, the memory lapses, his newfound trust issues - everything. Part of him doesn’t want to need the support, but his straining lungs and damp eyes were irrefutable proof that he does. 

The car pulls into park, and Tyler realizes they’re back at their luxury hotel. 

“You coming, or you need a minute to calm down?”

Tyler holds up a single finger without looking at the other man. 

“Okay.” Brendon grabs his suit jacket from the backseat and places the keys on the center console. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

And then he’s gone. 

Tyler drives the heels of his palms into his eyes as the tears continue to track down his face, and tries to take off his suit jacket as he begins to burn up. As he slides the sleeves off, a single thought burns in his head. 

_ Call Josh.  _

He’s too tired, too desperate to ignore this knowing voice, and so, with blurry vision, he fishes out the business card. It takes him all of ten seconds to dial the number pressed onto its white face, and only one ring for a voice to echo on the other side of the line.

_ “Hello? Who’s this?” _

“It’s… uh, it’s Tyler.” He can’t breathe. His vision is narrowing. “Josh?”

_ “Oh, hey! Tyler!”  _ The voice has an air of surprise to it. It’s comforting amid the commotion in the background.  _ “How-” _

Josh cuts himself off, and the line goes silent. When he speaks next, his tone is less bright, but warmer. It’s nearly a whisper, and Tyler has to strain to hear.  _ “Tyler, are you panicking?” _

He can only answer in a smothered gasp, as more tears spill from his eyes. He nods vigorously even though Josh can’t see. 

_ “Okay. I need you to listen to me, just listen to my voice. Can you do that for me?” _

Tyler nods, and Josh takes his silence as an affirmative. 

_ “Whatever you’re going through, whatever’s stressing you out, we’re going to get through it. Hand in hand, like we always do.”  _ His tone is refreshingly tentative, each word seemingly formed with intense concentration and care. A heaviness lifts from Tyler’s chest as he listens. 

_ “This panic, it’s real, and I know it’s really scary, but it’s not deadly. It’s not dangerous. You’re unbelievably strong, you’ve proven that time and time again - not that you need to. You can get through this. I’m so proud of you for reaching out for help.” _

Tyler’s breath comes easier listening to the low hum of Josh’s words, their captivating concern, their coarse diction. His heart beats slower, and he slumps down in his seat. 

_ “You’re still listening, right? Because I’m going to ask you for a favor.” _

Tyler nods, but this time manages a near-silent, “Yes.”

_ “Good.”  _ Tyler could almost hear the pride, the joy, in his voice.  _ “Wherever you are, I need you to find some water. From a fountain, or a water bottle. Take a few sips, not too fast. Remember you’re in control.” _

Tyler spots a water bottle underneath the back of the driver’s seat and grabs it, bringing its plastic lip to his mouth. The water is warm but feels impossibly cool across his tongue, and he laps it up entirely. The bottle is empty before Josh speaks again. 

_ “Wanna tell me what’s got you so bothered?”  _ His voice is far from condescending.  _ “One deep breath for me, handsome.” _

Tyler obliges, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. “I… I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

_ “Oh, that’s fine-”  _ Tyler hears ruckus on the other end of the line. After a few moments of wordlessness, Josh says,  _ “Hold on.” _

Tyler waits, letting the feeling of calm wash over him, reveling in the gentle command of Josh’s voice. It has such a measured intonation, golden and dripping, with no mazy movements. Tyler shifts in his seat, wondering how that voice would sound pressed up against the shell of his ear, or humming into the skin of his neck. 

_ “Tyler? You still there?” _

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” he says, as he snaps out of his reverie. His face flushes. “Yeah.”

_ “My boss is on my ass right now, so can I call you when my shift is over? Or you could call me, it’s completely up to you.” _

“No.”

_ “No?”  _ Josh resounds with disappointment. _ “That’s all right, but-” _

“I’m out of town right now, Josh.”

A small breath.  _ “Okay.” _

“Can we meet back at that cafe on Monday? Is that good for you?”

_ “Really?”  _ Josh’s voice goes weak.  _ “You’re gonna let me explain myself?” _

“I think…” Tyler breathes. “I think I owe you at least that much. For this.”

_ “You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,”  _ Josh says, and the pet name brings another rush of color to Tyler’s cheeks.  _ “But, thank you, Tyler. I promise you it’ll be worth your time.” _

“Bye, Josh,” Tyler whispers, his voice now under control. “And thank you, again.”

_ “Anytime,” _ he says, voice low and sultry.  _ “Bye.” _

The line goes dead, and Tyler takes a moment before exiting the rental, locking it, as Brendon requested. He pockets the business card again whilst entering the hotel’s elevator, and ignores the dread building in his gut at having to see his fiance again. 

His fingers are cautious as he uncovers his phone, and adds a new contact. 

_ Josh. _

Tyler hopes he won’t end up regretting this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


	7. Polaroids

The morning air smells thick of rain as Tyler pulls his beanie farther over his head. He’s walking to the cafe he first met Josh at, crossing the fingers pushed deep into his pockets. 

His head pulses with striking rhythm, imitating the kicking of his heart against his chest. His nose is starting to run. He attributes the sickly vibrations and symptoms surging throughout his body to the beginnings of a cold. 

He swings by a convenience store on the way to the coffee shop to pick up a pack of cigarettes. His fingers itch for a roll of smoke, and he's past the point of questioning his body's cravings; it seems to remember more about his past life than he does. The gnawing feeling he has coined "tiredness" has become all-consuming in the past week, ever since he returned to Venice. Each night he spends researching every aspect of the case file turns up nothing, and his plan is slowly morphing from finding a murderer to preparing a funeral. 

He pays for the cigarettes with a sour clot in the base of his throat. 

He arrives at the cafe moments later, and scans the area, eyes darting from face to face to overworked face. He catches the view of quietly eager brown eyes and gives a mechanical smile as Josh beckons him over. 

"Hey," Josh says. Tyler joins him in the booth. 

"Hey." Tyler glances down at the paper cup on the table in front of him. "What's this?"

"Medium dark roast with sugar and two shots of cream," he explains, his face reddening. "Your favorite."

"Oh," Tyler says. He tastes it. It's good. He glowers, his fingers twisting the longest strands of his hair, as he begins to speak. "How are we gonna do this?"

Josh twines his forefinger in the frayed threads of his sling. "I don't know. I don't really know what to do when the love of my life says he doesn't know who I am."

Tyler winces, taking a sip of his drink. It's scalding and does nothing to soothe the dryness in his mouth. "Fair. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. At least, I don't think." He winks and chuckles a little. "Why don't... why don't you remember me?"

"I was in a car crash a couple months ago. Bumped my head real bad, and it fucked with my memory." Tyler places his head in his hands as the throbbing in his head intensifies. "Think it gives me migraines now, too."

"Where'd they room you?" Josh's voice is hushed, hesitant. 

"Hospital in Venice."

"Figures." Josh shakes his head, groaning. "I was airlifted to an ICU in Santa Clara."

"Huh?" Tyler cocks his head to the side. "You were... airlifted?"

"Dude." Josh laughs, the low huff sounding almost bewildered. "I was in the car with you. We got t-boned by a semi that ran a red. On my side."

"Explains the sling." Tyler grimaces. "Just got my boot off a while ago."

"It's a blessing we came out of that alive," Josh whispers. "We could've easily died."

Tyler nods, chewing on his lip. "Can you... tell me a little about how we met?"

"Yeah, definitely." Josh gives him an indulgent smile, and Tyler's chest grows tight. "We were practically friends since we were born because our parents were best buds. I spent almost every night at your house throughout grade school. Anyway, I fell hard for you in junior high but didn't want to mess up our friendship. Cliche, I know."

Tyler recoils at the mention of his parents but lets Josh continue. His story sounds awfully similar to Brendon's - and just as plausible - so he quiets his impulses and leans closer. He listens for cracks in Josh's story. 

"Wait, hold on." Josh unzips and searches through a black rucksack seated next to him. He pulls out multi-colored polaroids, and Tyler sucks in a strained breath. 

"These are some of my favorite photos of us from high school," Josh reveals, his face brightening as he begins to speak. It's adorable. 

There are about ten polaroids laid out on the waxed surface of the table, each holding a moment of innocence within its four corners. There are a few simple ones, Josh's arm strewn over Tyler's shoulder at a cinema, the two of them sporting suits outside a church's gates, the both of them dancing in the middle of a rainstorm. There are also a few of just Josh, with silly faces and drumsticks and middle fingers abound. The ones featuring Tyler are unique, as they catch him unaware of the camera. They capture him as he's hammering the ivory keys of a piano, sitting criss-cross atop a roof, or rooted to the hood of a car, in awe of the stars above. 

Tyler looks up at him, lips parted in unfettered shock, and Josh reaches across the table to take his hand. Tyler doesn't move away. 

"That last one, where we were in the forest at night," he says, pointing at the picture where Tyler is entranced by the night sky, "was the night I kissed you for the first time. I literally could not kiss you anymore. Holy hell, that night, you were so beautiful, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

A tenderness fluttered in Josh's voice as he spoke, and Tyler was captivated. It was warm and soft and smooth and  _ familiar,  _ and Tyler hunted anything familiar these days.

"We moved in together in LA right after high school without a cent of cash in our pockets. I kid you not." Josh smiles, squeezing Tyler's hand. "I got a job as a mechanic since it was the only damn thing I was good at, and you worked wherever you could. Retail, cashiering, barista, whatever. Every free dollar we had went to savings to pay for your college."

"My college?"

Josh smiles sadly. "You wanted to be a teacher."

Tyler's head explodes, erupts with burning hot magma, and snot pours from his nostrils as if from a faucet. Josh jerks back, his hands going to hold Tyler's wrists as he tries to pull his hair. 

"Baby. Tyler." Josh's voice breaks through the agony. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't... know," Tyler exhales, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "My, my head."

"Close your eyes," he orders, and Tyler instantly obeys. He hears rustling but instead directs all of his focus to his breathing. He jumps when he feels a cool towel drag across his forehead and down his cheek. Tyler welcomes the immediate relief of the rag's movements across his face; his exhales come easier. 

Josh's hand is steady as he wipes away Tyler's tears and the snot dribbling out of his nose. Tyler huffs and opens his eyes, beholding the man in front of him. 

"Better?" Josh asks, handing him the washcloth. 

"Much," he answers, holding the towel to his temple. "I guess that's a side effect of the crash."

Josh's face softens. "It's terrible seeing you in pain. Is there anything I can do?"

Tyler laces their fingers. "Maybe stop talking about the past? I think it automatically makes my brain try to remember, which it's obviously not ready to."

"Yeah, of course, whatever you need." Josh lifts Tyler's hand to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Tyler's cheeks warm. "Also, go ahead and keep the washcloth. I bring it to clean my face after work, but it'll give me another reason to see you again."

"Yeah." Tyler nods, as the pulsing in his head begins to subside. His heart still hammers in his chest, but slower than before. "How've you been?"

Josh winces. "Honestly? Not great."

Tyler frowns.

Josh goes on. "Money's tight right now without the second income. I was actually in Venice last week to ask a friend for money before I ran into you."

Tyler's grimace becomes deeper. "Your parents aren't any help?"

Josh barks a laugh. "V'course not. No one wants a grade A druggie for a kid. Your parents have always been great, though. I've been phoning 'em nonstop for the last while, but I can't get a hold of them."

Tyler swallows. "About them."

"Yeah?" Josh's smile slips off his face at Tyler's expression. "What's wrong?"

Tyler doesn't know how to say this. He doesn't even know if he  _ should  _ be saying this. "Three months ago, my mom and dad were... were..."

Josh doesn't dare breathe. "Were what?"

"They were murdered. And the police don't know who did it."

A moment of silence ensues, and Josh's face doesn't break, doesn't seem to register what Tyler said.  _ "What?" _

"I've been trying to work the case myself, but all I've hit are dead ends. The police think the case's gone cold."

Josh says nothing, so Tyler tries to fill the space with words. 

"They think the guy might be a serial killer, pursuing my loved ones and me. They've been looking for anyone who kills the same way he does. It doesn't look like he's struck again though."

"How's that?" Josh's voice is paralyzed, unmoving, monotonous. "How were they killed?"

"Hundreds of stab wounds." Tyler feels his stomach clench as he recounts the notes on the case file. "And their throats were slit."

Josh stands up from his seat, his face turned a sickly shade of gray, a hand raised to cover his mouth. "God, Ty, I think I'm gonna puke."

He rushes out of the main space of the cafe and into the back, where the bathrooms are located. With Josh's backpack clamped in a fist, Tyler is on his heels. 

As soon as they enter the bathroom, Josh slides to the floor, knees pressed against his chest, and back to the wall. 

Tyler stands frozen before him. "Josh."

"I'm sorry, Tyler, I just-" His voice cracks, and he puts his head in between his knees. "I'm sorry."

Tyler crouches down in front of him and prays no one walks into the bathroom. Zack's words about Josh ring in his head now, almost deafening. 

_ I know he loved our mom.  _

Tyler feels sick. 

He sits down on the bathroom floor beside Josh. He pauses before speaking. "I don't know what to say, Josh. I can't remember the bond you used to have with my mom. I'm sorry."

"She was like a mother to me," Josh whispers. He sniffles. "How's the rest of the family taking it?"

"Not too well. Zack's got cameras installed on the outside of his house, and I think Maddy's doing the same. They're terrified for their families. I'm not doing much better. I got so paranoid, I called the police on him."

Josh hums, his face still without its color. "This is not how I was hoping this morning would go."

Tyler exhales, a deep, tired sigh. "You got a lighter?"

Josh turns toward him. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Give it." 

Josh complies, pulling one out of his rucksack pouch, and Tyler flicks off the cap, fishing the cigarette pack out of his pocket. "We could both use a smoke. You, maybe, more than me."

Josh makes a face as if he were about to refuse, but his face falls in surrender. "Yeah. You're right."

Tyler nods, lighting the cigarette and passing it to Josh. He takes a drag and returns it to Tyler, who puffs, holding the stick between two limp fingers. They share it in silence until the cig is about halfway burnt. Josh pipes up. 

"You believe me, right? That I'm your fiance?" 

Tyler doesn't look at him. What would Brendon say if he knew about this? 

"I don't know. I need more time." Tyler feels the need to clarify. "I don't love you."

"Ouch, but understandable." Josh taps the ash off the cigarette. "You're probably terrified, right? You're in a new world, alone, can't recognize a damn person, and it seems tragedy has a target on your back. You don't know if you can trust anyone, because they could easily take advantage of your amnesia, or hell, they could try and kill you."

Tyler's heart squeezes, and air rushes out from his lungs. "How did you do that?"

Josh laughs, low and breathy. "I've known you twenty-eight years, that's how. I know your every thought before you think it and your every feeling before you feel it."

"Nice to know I don't have an ounce of privacy." 

Josh laughs again, and it brings a tentative smile to Tyler's face. He likes this. 

The cigarette finishes and Tyler puts it out against the floor. He reaches in his pocket for another one, but Josh shakes his head. 

"I've got to get to work," he explains. "But let's do this again sometime, huh? I enjoyed talking to you. Give me a chance to make you fall head over heels for me again."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Yeah, definitely."

They walk back out to the shop, tossing their drinks in the trash. It's while Josh is giving him a hug on the curb, before they go their separate ways, that he next speaks. 

"How would you feel if I hopped on the case with you? To help out?"

Tyler is apprehensive. "I don't trust you." 

He's blunt about it since Josh has already shown he knows what Tyler's thinking. 

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that." Josh chuckles, pawing a hand over his face. He's regaining some of his color, and Tyler grins. "That's why I was going to say it doesn't have to be right away. Whenever you feel you're ready, then I'll jump aboard. I just want you to know you have an ally."

Tyler pulls him in for another hug. "Thank you."

"Believe me," Josh starts with a snort, "I want to catch that motherfucker as much as you do."

Tyler has only known Josh an hour, but he could tell he didn't curse often. The profanity brings a blush to Tyler's cheeks. 

"I'll call you soon."

"How soon?"

"When do you get off work?"

Josh smirks. "I've already wooed you. See?"

Tyler socks Josh in the arm as he laughs. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"You're my bitch."

"Man, fuck you." Tyler's laughing so hard he can barely keep upright. 

"Time and place." Josh grins, trying to keep poise. He takes a step back, starting to walk away. "I get off at seven. See you then?"

"Yeah, all right," he replies. 

And then Josh rounds the corner, gone. 

Tyler feels his heart thump out of his chest as he starts to walk away. He turns and begins walking toward Brendon's high-rise apartment, his hands quivering in his pockets. The sky rolls with thunder, and he purses his lips, thinking. Someone was lying to him, taking advantage of his amnesia, for their own personal gain. The problem was Tyler didn't know who, or why.

So much for resolving his trust issues. 

***

Tyler's standing in the shower, hot water blazing across his back, a hand moving furiously on his dick. Huffs leave his mouth in an increasing flurry, and he tosses his head back against the tile wall to support himself. 

He hasn't gotten off in  _ months,  _ and the need bubbled over the moment he walked into the flat; he leaned on the doorframe, a hand moving roughly along the front of his jeans, before he decided to relocate to the shower. 

No matter how much he talked himself into it, he couldn't make himself have sex with Brendon. Kisses were comfortable, and he could get hard without a problem, but the moment Brendon's hands wandered lower...

The mood was slaughtered, and Tyler pushed Brendon off as nausea churned in his gut. When Brendon asked him why, Tyler attributed it to the murders, the funerals, the grief. Now, pumping his dick furiously with a bitten-red lip, burning hot without help from the scalding water, he wasn't so sure. 

Tyler steps out of the cabin flushed, but with no pulsing in the base of his stomach.

The flat is silent as he towels down since Brendon is in Seattle for business, and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He fishes out leftover nachos from the freezer when he saunters over to the kitchen. Tyler settles down in front of the TV, which is playing some dumb reality show, but it's just background noise. 

He opens his phone and sees a text from Zack. 

_ hey man _

_ when do you want to get together for funeral planning _

Tyler sighs.

_ i can fly back home next week _

_ is that good? _

Zack replies immediately. 

_ yeah _

_ how you holding up? _

_ i'm okay _

_ call me if that changes, k? _

_ you have my word _

The message comes up as read, with no response. Tyler checks the time, finding it's 6:56, and lets his head hit the couch behind him. 

Fuck. Seven o'clock feels so far away. 

He picks at his stale nachos, which stick to the roof of his mouth as he swallows, and waits until 7:15. (He doesn't want to seem desperate and feed Josh’s swollen ego.) But the second the clock hits a quarter after, he opens Josh's contact. 

_ hey _

Classy. Real classy. Tyler doesn't get to dwell on this misgiving for long; Josh's reply arrives promptly. 

_ ft me _

_ i wanna see your pretty face _

Tyler rolls his eyes but obeys. 

Josh's face under white fluorescent light fucking  _ glows,  _ and his hair curls wetly over his face. His skin looks damp, presumably after a shower, and his muscled chest is bare for Tyler's ravenous gaze. 

"You're fucking beautiful," Tyler says before he can stop himself. 

Josh laughs, his cheeks growing pink. "Thank you. You're not too bad yourself, babe."

Tyler smiles gently, watching as Josh reciprocates, equal amounts warm. 

"I miss you," Josh says softly. "The bed feels cold without you."

Tyler doesn't say anything. Josh sighs deeply and changes the subject. 

"How are you? Where are you staying?"

Tyler considers lying but doesn't see the point. "Do you know who Brendon is?"

"Brendon?" He scoffs. "Of course, I know Brendon. He's practically my brother."

Tyler's jaw slackens.

He brushes it off. 

"Yeah, uh. Yeah. I'm staying with him."

Josh turns his head to the side, and the movement sends his hair cascading over his white pillow. "Why?"

"Well, uh." Tyler scratches the back of his head and settles on flashing his left hand to Josh. His engagement ring - the one Brendon gave him - sits nestled on his ring finger. 

"What the fuck. What the actual fuck." Josh gapes. "Brendon is not your fucking fiance.  _ I'm  _ your fiance.  _ What the fuck." _

Tyler brings his lip between his teeth as Josh sits up, red in the face. He's fuming as he speaks, his voice taut. "I'm your fiance, Ty. You  _ have  _ to believe me."

"If Brendon was in your position, I bet he'd be saying the same thing to me."

Josh's angry flush spreads to his neck, drawing Tyler’s eyes with it. He has little freckles along his collarbone that trail down to his chest, and Tyler thinks of the time he heard that freckles were kisses from angels. Tyler wonders what angel got lucky enough to press their lips to Josh's skin. 

"Fuck." Josh sighs. "How can I prove it to you? That I'm telling the truth."

"I'm going to Columbus sometime next week. For funeral planning." Tyler's voice is quiet, and he sees Josh depress, settling back onto the mattress. "I think... I think I need someone for support."

"Why don't you ask Brendon?" Josh spits, and Tyler gives him a bored look. "Sorry. I'll be there if you need me. I just don't know if I could afford the ticket."

"I'll pay," Tyler ensures. "Just come."

"Okay, Tyler. I love you," Josh whispers. "Do you love him?"

Tyler rolls his eyes, but Josh's eyes stay on him. "No." The answer is quick, honest.

"Swear to me you won't fall in love with him."

Tyler assures him it'll be an easy promise to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you are all well and keeping safe during this trying time <3


End file.
